


Eaten Alive

by Lazarus76



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Beck gets fattened up but its not consensual, Beck is still a villain deep down, Beck is trying to justify his actions, Beck still has an ego, Confinement, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Fury is really not amused, M/M, Peter Parker is a hero in the truest sense, beck is still trying to fool the world, looking for some redemption and failing, medical force feeding, you can feel sympathy for beck if you want to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 16:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20439149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazarus76/pseuds/Lazarus76
Summary: Quentin Beck came to prominence through lies. Which is why its sad when his conscience starts to bite, no-one is prepared to believe him. Especially as guilt can consume you whole. Especially as Nick Fury wants you to receive justice of a traditional kind, rather than that of your own conscience.





	Eaten Alive

He opened his eyes, and was immediately confronted by a sheen of white. White walls, white sheets, white furniture. Turned his head to the left, and a bedstand was there, with a jug of water and a jug of light pink liquid. Turn his head to the right, and tall metal pole was in place, complete with a bag full of shimmering, viscous liquid and a long thin tube. 

He blinked. The tube was simply hanging. Hanging down the side of the pole, not attached to anything. He rubbed his arms. No marks, no perforations, no tears. He reached up and felt his face. All he felt was skin. Ridges. Hollows. 

He let his arms drop, his mind in suspended animation. He did not know which day it was, or even what month it was, and he did not even care. He had no idea how long he'd been here. 

A gentle swoosh caught his attention. He looked up, to see the tall, slim, black clad figure. Hill. 

“Mr Beck?”

He was the only one here. There was no point in answering. She ignored his silence and continued to speak. “A meal will be delivered soon.”

He swallowed. She might as well have said “I've got a syringe full of strychnine – which arm?” He closed his eyes. Hill, again, ignored him. 

“I would like to enforce to you that you are staying in this facility until you are fit to stand trial. This is merely a temporary measure. If you don't co-operate with us, we will have to take our own action.” She did not even need to point to the bag. Beck knew what it was there for. 

“Thank you, Agent.” It came out as a hiss. Hill nodded, turned, and left. 

___________________________________________________________________________________

The bridge had been a disaster. Parker had worked out who he was, and what he was planning – and he was left with no choice. No choice but to lie there, in agony, until the team retrieved him. 

Beck had no idea how he'd even survived. He'd been lying on the floor, suspended in a hinterland of pain and oblivion. Then he was awake, spluttering, devoid of his suit and nearly naked. Lying on a bed with stitches flaring against the otherwise smooth, pale abdomen, the wound a red, angry gash. 

“You're very lucky,” said a voice, that seemed to come from another dimension. “Bullet is out, and your wound is clean. You'll recover. Give it a couple of weeks.”

He did. He stayed in the safe house. He drank water. He took the pain medication that was brought to him. William, he realised, and Veronica, were the only members of the team still there. Gunterman had split, taking Janice. The others had gone. 

“When you're recovered, we all need to go our separate ways for a while.” Beck remembered nodding his head, the words falling and only vaguely making sense. His eyes flicked up. “So its over?”

William nodded, then spoke as though the words pained him. “Its over, Boss. The world thinks Mysterio is dead. Spiderman has been exposed. We all need to lie low. Maybe meet up in a few months.”

Quentin had merely nodded. The painkillers were turning his tongue to lead and his mind to mush. He lay down, closing his eyes. No other options were presenting themselves. Stark was dead, Parker was an outcast, Mysterio was gone. That left nowhere for him. He let sleep roll over, washing away his thoughts in a tidal wave of oblivion. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

“This is the third day you've left food untouched.”

Beck did not look up, training his eyes on the stitching in the blanket. Hill paused, received no response. Turning, she walked out, the threat in her unspoken words left hanging in the air. 

_______________________________________________________________________________ 

It was easy to get lost in the crowds. The beard had gone, with the help of William's shaving kit, the Mysterio suit had been incinerated, and wandering around in jeans and a shirt meant he could pass for anybody. A fake passport and plane ticket to Munich had been produced, and before he knew it, he was in Bavaria. Hiding out in a hotel. Long days filled with nothing. No grand plans. No grandstanding. 

He tugged at the jeans. Veronica had insisted she'd bought his size, but they felt loose. Clearly he'd shrunk when recovering. He ran a finger over the healing wound, noting how the former abs were diminished. He walked, aimlessly, through the small German town. Spotting a newstand, he wandered over. 

Every magazine had Parker's face on it. His expression was one of shock. Beck skimmed his eyes over the headlines, deducing through patchy German that Parker had been arrested, charged, awaiting trial. Awaiting trial for the death of a hero, the greatest hero ever. Awaiting trial for the destruction of a beautiful city, and the deaths of civilian casualties. 

Beck felt a shiver go through him. He was clear. It had worked. Parker had been framed, would be smashed like the irritating little bug he was. He'd finally realise his hopeless hero worship of Stark had been for nothing. He'd finally realise he should never have meddled in adult business. 

Beck bent down, carefully thumbing through the magazines until he found one published in English. Pulling a few Euros from his pocket, he paid and walked to a bench in the centre of the square. Flicking the magazine open, he began to read. 

“Parker could face trial for his involvement in the death of Mysterio...Parker could spend a life sentence in a maxium security prison. Parker is already having to live elsewhere due to public backlash...”

Beck closed the magazine, and rolled it up. Holding it securely, he continued to walk. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. 

In front of him was a large wall. On the wall, a painting of his face. Underneath, candles, and flowers. 

Beck felt a tangle of emotions, then suddenly, a rush of bile. 

Turning, he vomited into the gutter. Shocked, he stood up, carefully wiping his mouth with a tissue from his pocket. It was just the heat, he told himself. The heat, and dehydration. It was nothing to do with this shrine to Mysterio, the greatest hero who Parker had nearly exposed as the greatest fraud. It was nothing to do with the fact that on another wall, there was a picture of Spiderman, with scrawled abuse covering it.  
_____________________________________________________________________________

“Are you awake, Beck?”

Beck blinked, and hauled himself up. Fury was again standing at the foot of his bed, that hateful eye scanning his body. Beck cocked his head to one side, ignoring the spasm this produced in his neck.

“Still not eating.” It was a statement, not a question. “You really should start.”

Beck glared at him. “I'm not a turkey, Mr Fury. You can't just fatten me up ready for Thanksgiving.”

“Interesting choice of words, Mr Beck.” Fury's stance did not shift an inch. “Because I would say turkey is a very accurate description of what you are right now. You are in confinement, you have nothing to assist you in leaving, your entire scheme has been exposed for the stupid, ego-driven rampage that it was, and like a turkey nearing Thanksgiving, your sole purpose at the moment should be fattening up.”

“What if I can't eat?” Beck cursed himself internally the minute the words left his mouth. 

“As you're someone who held a grudge against his ex-employer to the extent he was prepared to destroy major cities and kill civilians, including specific young targets, I think you're more than capable of eating Mr Beck.” Fury pinned him with his unrelenting gaze. “Plus, you have an image to live up to.” Fury turned, then paused. “After all, wasn't that what Mysterio was all about?”  
____________________________________________________________________________

It was turning into a circus. Parker had been found, arrested. Taken to a top security facility. Beck had watched it on TV, in translated German, at first hoping that the fact the child who had tried to destroy him was pinned down would make him feel better. But then – that guilt. That knawing feeling, that transmuted into restless nights and unpleasant dreams. That made him feel nauseous. 

When he closed his eyes, Peter's face flickered in front of him. That look of revulsion, tinged with fear, when he realised that Beck was not the substitute mentor he'd longed for. When he'd realised that Beck was true to his word – that he'd take down anyone who threatened his plan. 

“Gullible. Smart as a whip...but a sucker.”

Beck blinked, sitting bolt upright. His own words to Peter lingered in his mind, remembering how he swaggered towards him, smirking. The look of shock that rolled across the younger man's face as Beck threatened his friends. 

Another wave of nausea gripped Beck, and he pushed himself off the bed, heading to the bathroom. Shoving his head inside the smooth procelain rim, he vomited until there was nothing left. 

Getting up, he staggered back into the bedroom. A swirling montage of images was filling his head, each more nightmarish than the last. Recollections of how he had taunted the younger man. 

He sank back down onto the mattress. He was being ridiculous, he tried to rationalise. Parker would have exposed him as a fraud, as a liar. He had to kill him. He had to kill his friends. Had to threaten him - 

another wave of nausea rolled over him, and he began dry retching, clinging to the edge of the bed.  
_______________________________________________________________________________

“I really hoped it wouldn't come to this, Beck.” 

Beck blinked, and Nick Fury came into focus, at the foot of his bed. Standing straight, with his arms behind his back, there was an aura of menace that was palpable. Finally, licking his dry top lip, he spoke. “Come to what, Fury?” Beck allowed a smirk to fall across his face, bordering on a sneer. “The fact that you're discovering I'm actually not a battery turkey?”

“I'd really hoped it wouldn't come to the point where you would be able to try and accuse us of mistreating you. Because if there's one thing I don't like, its when the bad guy tries to make out he's the victim.” Fury paused. “But you've been doing that for six months, so I should not be surprised.”

“I think if you're forcing me to eat when I've told you I'm finding it difficult, then I'm not trying to make out I'm the victim.” Beck paused. “I would say I am the victim.” 

“You are very far from a victim, Beck.”

A silence fell in the room. Beck felt his mouth dry out further. 

Fury took a step forward. “You see that stand and bag next to your bed? You do see it, don't you? Its been there since we brought you in. That's there to ensure you stay alive, whilst we prepare your case. That's there to ensure that you get the nutrition needed for you to cope with long days in court, being confronted with everything you've done.” Fury's sole eye burned. “You're not going to starve your way out of this, Beck. If I have to order that tube be placed in your veins, that's what I'll do. If you choose to rip it out, I have contingencies. If I have to order agents to hold you down, force your jaw open and shove food into your mouth and make you chew and swallow, that's what I'll do. If you think that sounds like torture, that's fine by me. What you put Parker through is the worst kind of torture.”

“I don't think it sounds just like torture. It sounds as though fattening me up will give you great satisfaction.” Beck spoke softly. 

“Putting you on trial, and watching you go down for the rest of your life to a place where not even the crows go will give me great satisfaction. If you're 250lb by that time, I can deal with that. But having a criminal claim anorexia and that he's too sickly to stand trial is not an option. Especially as the whole world saw that criminal in a form fitting armoured suit, flaunting the type of body that would befit a Hollywood star. You walk in looking like a waif, they might start feeling sorry for you. Feeling sorry for poor Mysterio, whose clearly been mistreated whilst in custody. We are not mistreating you, so I suggest you drop the anorexic act. ”

"I'm not anorexic." Beck felt a rising tide of anger. "I just feel-"

"You feel?" Fury's voice dripped with contempt. "You feel what, Beck? Angry that you didn't get away with betraying the world? Of course you do. If you feel anything, its for yourself."

____________________________________________________________________

He sighed in his sleep, turning. Suddenly, he felt a touch on his shoulder. He blinked, turning. Peter Parker was staring into his eyes. Beck felt himself begin to shake. 

“You know what you are?” Parker's voice was low, with an edge that Beck had never heard before. “You're just a liar in a fancy suit.”

“Peter -”

“Just a liar in a fancy suit.” 

“Peter, please-”

“JUST A LIAR IN A FANCY SUIT!”

Beck sat upright, his heart hammering. He looked around the room, realising that there was no one else there. A dream. Not reality. 

Not reality. 

__________________________________________________________________________________

“You really want a tube in your nose? All the way down to your stomach?”

Beck shrugged, his eyes not leaving the ceiling. 

“If you don't answer me I'll assume the answer is yes.”

Silence. 

“You're running out of time, Beck. You will be facing a judge in four weeks. You will be answering to the law. You will be answering to the fact you willfully destroyed cities and lives in order to prove a point. You are not going in there looking like this.”

Fury turned and left. As the door swung closed, two others – a man and a woman entered, both clad in white. 

Quentin blinked as the woman picked up the tube, and wheeled forward the pole. Suddenly, he felt himself being pinned down, his arms being held by his sides. As the tube pushed forward to his face, he clamped his lips together, suppressing the urge to scream with pain. 

________________________________________________________________________

Coffee. Water. Coffee. Water. Apple. 

Beck swallowed the last mouthful of the fruit, feeling its chalkiness slide down his throat. It was the sixth day of hiding in Bavaria, and the third day of his new regime. He tugged at his jeans. The waistband was inching further and further down his hips. 

Beck stretched, feeling the rigidity in his bones. He would start to eat again, he promised himself. When the trial was over, when Peter was put away. He would start to eat again, and then start to look for a new life. When he was sure he could sleep again at night, peacefully. When he was sure he would no longer be confronted by those dark brown eyes, burning into his with a blend of contempt and bewilderment. 

________________________________________________________________________

“How are you feeling?”

“Sick,” Beck whispered, hoarsely. He felt the tube graze against the membranes inside his nose, and scratch in his throat. His limbs felt heavy, useless. 

“You probably will for a while. Your metabolism needs to get used to nutrition again.” Hill looked at him. “You will start to feel better.”

“For the trial?”

“For in general.”

“You mean jail, Agent Hill.”

“You can interpret it that way.” Hill looked straight at him. “You can interpret it any way you like.”

_____________________________________________________________________________  
The Netherlands were so pretty, Beck mused. Even though he could not really go out and engage with it, the sheer landscapes were enough. 

He pulled his belt tighter. The less he ate, the better he felt. The less he ate, the less nauseous he felt. The deeper his sleep became. The less troubled by nightmares bound up with old conversations with Peter. But he'd start eating again, he promised himself. He just needed to wait for the end result of the trial. Once Peter was safely put away, he would know that he'd been right. That enabling a hormonal, highly strung teenager to possess great power was wrong. He'd had to prove that. 

Had to.  
_______________________________________________________________________________

“This way please, Mr Beck.”

Handcuffed, the fabric of the standard issue tunic and trousers hanging from his frame, Beck shuffled down the corridor. Two anonymous agents stood behind, guns cocked and loaded. He entered a small room. 

“Step on the scale, please.”

Beck did so, trying to ignore the cold harshness of the metal frame. The woman behind it shifted the weights and balance. 

“Up 2lb. That's a 2lb gain in four days. When you get back to solid food, it'll be more rapid.”

Beck swallowed, his throat constricting. 

“Please take him back. Thank you!”  
_______________________________________________________________________________________

He gazed at the screen. Peter Parker stood in a dock, his hands bound in front of him. He looked younger than Beck remembered, vulnerable. 

The court was full, the judge in front of him. Words spilled out, the words describing what had happened. Prosecution and defence, moving in swift cadences. 

Beck stretched his hand forward, and switched it off. 

Another wave of nausea rose. Choking it down, he stared at the ceiling, closing his eyes.

“You're just a liar in a fancy suit.”

Beck whimpered, letting the pull of emotions take him. He needed to start eating again. When Peter was put away, he'd do so. 

He'd examined himself in the mirror that morning. His cheeks were more concave than convex, and spreading his shirt open, he noticed his ribs. His arms felt smaller, more wizened. His mind flickered back to Janice, fussing over the suit. He doubted he could now fill it out pleasingly. 

Beck shrugged. When Peter was put away, he'd start eating again. He'd regain his muscular build. He smiled. Stark had always had a string of models, until he'd started playing the unconvincing role of the family man. Beck could use his body, and the story he was a grieving widower, in need of comfort. He smirked. A few models would be good, then he'd focus on finding someone ordinary, who would worship him and treat him like a god. Like Thor, he thought, and chuckled out loud. 

He swallowed as his hands fell to his newly hollowed stomach. When Peter was put away, he'd start eating again. Then he'd know that he'd been right. Then he'd know that this nauseating guilt was worth it.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

“A 3lb gain. As this is working, Beck, we'll keep you on it.”

“Yeah.” Beck laughed, softly. “For another, what, 10lb? 15? 20? You need to keep on fattening me up. If you put me in the dock now, all you'll get is the world's revulsion. That you're resorting to putting a sick man on trial, a man who clearly cannot cope with it. You need to force feed me in order to justify your treatment of me. Because its all about how much humiliation you can put me through. All because I dared to point out the fact that being in a costume and a cape didn't mean you automatically deserved attention. And the people who got that attention were wholly unfit for it.” 

“You can keep telling yourself this, Beck. What you cannot cope with is the truth.” Fury's eye bored into Beck's pale blue ones. “You cannot cope with the fact that you set up the destruction of a kid, all because of a long standing grudge with a now-dead man. A destruction that didn't even benefit you, because people believed that you were dead. And still do. There's the odd mural of Mysterio. No interviews. No endorsements. No screaming girls throwing themselves at you. No dates with bimbo celebrities. That's what's eating you Beck. The fact you nearly succeeded...but for no purpose. For a narcississt such as yourself, that's torture.” 

Beck fell silent. Fury cast his eye over him again. 

He turned, and left. 

____________________________________________________________________________

Released?

Beck's eyes widened as looked at the newspaper headline. Parker, clad in a suit and tie, an elated if exhausted expression on his face, was being escorted from the court room. 

He continued to read, thankful that the majority of Londoners took no interest in strangers. Certainly not a srawny man dressed in ill fitting clothes. He handed over the money for the newspaper, folded it under his arm, and carefully walked to the park on the opposite side of the road. 

“Peter Parker – AKA Spiderman – has been released without charge. It has been accepted by the government of Italy, Britain, and the Czech Republic that he was not responsible for the carnage and ultimate loss of life in the three incidents earlier this year. It is now widely believed, due to new evidence, that a man claiming to be the superhero Mysterio, in fact created a scam.”

Beck felt his blood turn to ice. He lowered the paper, carefully flicking his eyes round to check to see if anyone was watching him. His heartbeat slowed to a steady thrum. He swallowed, and continued reading.

“Police in Berlin picked up a man using the name Davies, but he was revealed to be a man who had previously worked with Mysterio. A data stick was retreived which gave illuminating evidence-”

Beck stopped reading. He dropped the newspaper on the park bench. Getting up, he began to walk across the park, his jeans falling from his hips. The shirt he was wearing clung to his arms and chest, revealing a bony torso. He let the materia swirl from his shoulders. The movement tugged at his memory – it felt like a cape. 

Beck shivered. He kept walking. He heard footsteps behind him, but ignored them. Ignored them until the stinging pain reverberate up his spine, and he felt his knees suddenly sag, falling to the ground. 

______________________________________________________________________________

“And there's another 3lb on! This is very impressive! But then as you're lying there doing nothing all day, rather than rampaging round capital cities trying to find new ways to frighten and impress the general public, I guess you're not burning that many calories!”

Beck gave Fury a thin smile. “Think I'm oven ready yet?”

“I know you like fairy tales, Beck, but I have no intention of pandering to a fantasist like you by re-naming you Hansel, or getting Hill in to feel your fingers." There was no warmth in the older man's voice. “To answer your question - no, you're not oven ready yet. But you will be. Then you will go into the courtroom, you will face the world's media, you will face the prosecutors representing the countries whose people and cities you destroyed, and you will face their contempt. If not the world's contempt, for trying to exploit the loss of those they thought would always protect them, and trying to kill a group of teenagers. Then you'll feel as though you're in an oven. A very, very hot one.”

“What if...” Beck spoke, his words sounding pale. “What if I told you that I feel regret, Fury? What if I told you that? What if I told you that when I saw that kid on television, on trial, I felt sick to my core? What if I told you then I couldn't physically eat, that I couldn't stomach it?” 

Fury looked at him, coldly, appraisingly.

“If you told me that, Beck, I'd respond by saying that people believe what they want to believe. Unfortunately for you, I don't believe in anything.”

_______________________________________________________________________________

“He's here?”

“That is what I just said.”

Peter's eyes were wide as he looked at Fury's inscrutable expression. “He's...what happened to him?”

“He was found in England. Trying to hide in London.” Fury shook his head. “He's here, undergoing treatment.”

“Treatment?”

“He hasn't been eating.” Fury looked at Peter, dispassionately. “He seems to think it'll help him avoid trial.”

“Will it?”

“Not when our medical team is done with him.” Fury looked at Peter. “We have a responsibility to make sure he stands trial.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This is Quentin Beck? This is meant to be a superhero? He looks like he can hardly stand up!”

"Let's check his vitals...hmmm. Blood sugar low to non-existent. Potassium levels low. That's concerning. There's a danger of cardiac arrythmia."

Beck shifted on the gurney, feeling himself strapped down, his wrists clamped in handcuffs. He blinked, his head swimming. He could hear a man's voice – a loud, angry one.

“But it clearly is Quentin Beck, as the DNA sample we extracted from him upon our first meeting match the sample taken here. So, this is our Mysterio. The man who claimed to be from another dimension...but who is really an ex-employee of Tony Stark.”

Beck groaned softly. 

“Where shall we take him?”

“Medical, second floor!”

_________________________________________________________________________________

“I can't believe that's Beck.” Peter shook his head as Fury showed him the surveillance footage of Beck in the facility room. “He looks so...thin.”

“Exactly.” Hill spoke up. “That's why he's on a committed re-feeding programme.”

“Why...what happened?”

“He claims he felt guilty over you.” Fury's voice cut through the tension in the room. “But Beck has claimed a great many things – that he was an interdimensional warrior, a grieving family man, a soldier fit to be an Avenger , and it all turned out to be a lie– so why should we believe this?”

“Its more probable he thought losing weight would be a good cover,” Hill interjected. “But he now claims that it was due to regret.” 

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Only if you want to. And remember, Parker - even though he weak at the moment, he's still dangerous.”  
_____________________________________________________________________________ 

“Beck! In here!”

Beck walked again – slowly, unsteadily – into the new room. He sank down onto the metal seat earmarked for him with a feeling of relief. Despite a 10lb weight gain, he felt weak, and shaky. 

The door opened and any strength he had dissipated. 

Peter Parker walked in, clad in jeans and a plaid shirt. Beck swallowed, trying to adjust his chained wrists. Peter sat down opposite him. “Mr Beck.”

Beck swallowed. “Peter.”

“They caught you.” Peter looked at him. “Fury says you're going to go on trial.”

“Yes.” 

“You know, you said to me that its easy to fool people if they're already fooling themselves. I think you were always fooling yourself. Fooling yourself that you'd get away with this.”

Beck choked. “Thank you for that sentiment. I wasn't fooling myself, Peter. I knew that I could get away with it. If it hadn't been for you and your friends.”

“Do you remember what you called me? A scared little kid in a sweat suit!” Peter leaned forward. “But what are you now? A skinny guy in a prison!”

Beck sighed. “Correction. I'm a skinny guy being fattened by Nick Fury in order so I can be served my alleged just desserts. Are you going to carry on throwing my words at me? Do you want to know the truth? I do regret what I did, Peter. I do.”

"You regret trying to kill me? MJ? Ned? Betty? Flash?"

"Yeah." Beck shrugged. "They were...collatoral damage. I'm sorry about that. I regret trying to kill you. I do - did - like you."

"Do you regret trying to trash Mr Stark's name?"

Beck paused, the name of his deceased nemesis hitting him like cold water in his face. He recoiled slightly. "I- I - "

"You told me..." Peter began, his voice starting to tremble, "that if I'd been better, Mr Stark would still be alive. But if you'd been better, you wouldn't be sitting here. Mr. Stark is seen as a hero. No-one's going to think that of you again."

Peter got up, and moved to the door, pressing the buzzer. 

“Peter!” Beck shouted after him, angrily. “I need you to believe me!”

Peter stopped and turned, looking at Beck with a mixture of contempt and resignation.

“I think you believe what you want to believe, Beck. And because you never succeeded, you'll believe anything.” He swallowed. “But you can't trick me again. Ever. You need to believe that.”

Beck looked after him in shock as he disappeared through the opening door. As Peter walked out, he took a deep breath, and began to move away. Beck merely looked at the table, the ever present nausea over shadowed by the feeling of regret and fear exploding in his chest. 

_Just a liar in a fancy suit_

Beck threw back his head and screamed.

_________________________________________________________

Peter walked outside in a haze of disbelief. That couldn't have been Beck. The prominent cheekbones, the bulging eyes...it was a face far removed from the man he'd originally met. 

Peter blinked, trying to obliterate the image of that wasted face. Beck had sounded sour, aggrieved, that Fury had no right to make him fit for trial. 

Peter shook his head. Beck was a pathological liar and a psychopath. He didn't deserve pity. He deserved to be force fed arsenic. 

Shocked at the depth of his feeling, Peter shuddered and increased his pace. 

__________________________________________________________________

"Well, I think you might be healthy enough for trial, Mr Beck."

Beck swallowed. "Great. I wonder if I'll still fit into my suit."

"Considering you've gone from waif to less waif, unlikely. You can wear some simple clothes." Fury's eye bored into him. "I'm pleased you gave up on your hunger strike."

"It wasn't a hunger strike. I've told you. Its the sheer fact of feeling too much."

Fury took a step towards the bed.

"As I said Mr Beck," he said, softly, "you can believe what you want. And I know you'll believe anything."

________________________________________________________

"You don't have to go to this, Peter."

"I know May, they have a backlog of evidence, they don't even need me to testify. But I have to. I have to-" Peter didn't articulate the last two words. There was no need. 

May nodded. "You want me there?"

Peter swallowed. "Yes. Yes please."

_____________________________________________________

Beck stood as the court entered. Peter studied him, from across the room. Fury had clearly done exactly what Beck had claimed- the fallen would-be Avenger was plumper. His face had filled out, and his clothes no longer hung on him as they would a coat hanger. Peter bit his lip. Fury had clearly made good on the promise to force feed him. 

Beck stared straight ahead. He felt nauseous again, but he wondered if that was due to the heavy meals he'd been confronted with. A twist of anger coursed through him. 

"Mr Beck!"

Beck looked up, at the judge. 

"There are counts against you of the following willful destruction of property, willful endangerment of civilians, conspiracy to commit murder, and conspiracy to fraud. Is there anything you wish to say?"

Beck cleared his throat. 

"People can believe what they want about me." He shrugged. "Because nowadays, they'll believe anything."

"Mr Beck," the judge's tone had dropped a semioctave. "Do you actually feel anything over these allegations?"

"Yes, regret."

"Regret for the things you've done?"

"No," Beck said coolly. "Regret that I got caught."

"Do you regret the framing of Peter Parker?"

Beck fell silent. Silence that stretched into an age. Even with Peter's eyes burning into him, Beck did not speak in the room again. Taken back down to the holding cell, he found a meal had been delivered. Picking up the fork, he began to eat.


End file.
